


In The Beginning...

by Noir_Dix



Series: The Gospel of Mary Goore [4]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Mary Goore - Fandom
Genre: Attack, Cardi predate, F/M, Half Death, Hanging, Malice - Freeform, Masturbation, More Masturbation, Necrophilia, Other, Premature Burial, Rescue, Unwanted Knowledge, Witchcraft, an unhappy accident, dispatch - Freeform, vague orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noir_Dix/pseuds/Noir_Dix
Summary: This is absolutely, positively WRONG.Again, don't tell me. I already know.It's not really "rape". It's definitely non-consensual. Mary had some bad damage.It does set Basil having to deal with him, as an unholy albatross, into motion...Which, I didn't plan.Title: you are required to hear the beginning of "Shout At The Devil" in your head
Series: The Gospel of Mary Goore [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640098
Comments: 22
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Darkness. Complete, utter blackness.

_Had he gone blind?_

Wet dirt. The smell of it was just... pervasive.

He struggled; had just the smallest bit of space. He put his hands up experimentally, & found a gap... Then, something hard & unforgiving.

It was so damp! His very bones ached.

Black light dawned slowly.

"Hjälp!"

He started to claw frantically at whatever was on top of him.

A board.

"Jag är inte död! Åh, knulla mig..."

It ended with a sob. He kept struggling, scratching, screaming... It got so that he could barely breathe.

Suddenly, an awful dragging, grating sound.

"Che racchetta. Per favore, stai zitto."

It was an odd voice. He had no idea what it was saying.

"Hjälp!"

There was a long-suffering sigh.

_Thunk._

_Drag._

_Thunk._

_Drag._

Finally, the board was lifted. The moon shone so brightly, he still couldn't see. He shot up with a horrible gasp, lungs burning with the cold night air. He choked.

His fingers & nails were caked in his own dried blood.

A shadow hovered at the end of his pit. A small shadow, with a spade.

"Jag är inte död-"

"Così ho sentito." the creature tilted its head at him. "Che lingua è quella? Suona scandinavo..."

He couldn't remember anything. He still had no clue what this stranger was saying.

The shadow offered him a hand. He stared, suspicious. It was riddled with pox-marks.

It was a slight man, about the same size as he. He wore black on black on black... Literally everything was black, down to the satin ribbon tying back his thick, chestnut hair.

The eyes didn't match. Otherwise, they could be his own. (Even the same shade of green.)

"Prego." he smirked. He stared at his neck. His hand went there reflexively, & found a sort of weeping injury.

He felt something rifling his very mind. He clutched at his head.

The shadow stranger rolled his eyes.

"Così drammatico."

He grabbed his hand, yanking him up out of his shallow grave. He steered him over to the side, muttering & beginning to fill the pit back in.

"Stupido disgustoso, si è fatto uccidere..."

He only just realized where they were.

The crossroads.

It hit him, all at once. The hanging. That moment his feet went out from under him-

"Jag är inte död." he said, again.

"Sì, sì. Buon per te."

He'd gotten the gist, in his quick glimpse. He finished his task, finally leaning on the small spade.

"You speak the English?" he asked, eyes narrow.

He blinked.

"A little."

"Bah." he turned, stalking away. "Barbarian."

He scrambled to catch up, wondering what he'd done.

"Could you give me a moment? I'm rather out of sorts-"

"No."

He wheezed, lungs burning.

"Where are we going?"

"Away from this place."

They continued on for a bit, until the crossroads were out of sight.

"What is your name?" the stranger asked, out of nowhere.

He had to think for a second.

"Mary... Mary Goore."

The other man snorted, & he bristled, preparing to-

"Goore. What sort of name is that? I know of no Goores."

He shut up, quickly.

His rather dubious companion went back to muttering irritably.

"Does your mother have a name?"

"It was Dethnell."

He stopped abruptly.

"Ah. Tell me more about _her_."

Mary glared.

"I don't think so. Who the hell are you?"

The other resumed his brisk walk.

"Ingrate. I owe you no answers."

Mary wouldn't budge.

"I have to stop. Now, I _am_ dying."

He spun back around.

"I wish." he sneered.

Mary just stared at him, clueless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary's speaking Swedish.  
> Basil's Italian... He's really quite amusing, with his sarcasm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it all goes very badly downhill.
> 
> It's more than a little disturbing.
> 
> Not to mention...
> 
> (I'll put it as an end note.)

"I am Basil Confessore Imperator." he puffed up gradually, (using his mother's status as a name). "I was sent to find you. That was before... Before I knew."

Mary was terribly confused.

"Knew? Knew _what_?"

The one called Basil didn't deign to answer, apparently intent upon finding a spot to rest, if only for a bit. There were some sparse woods, & he motioned for him to follow.

Mary was skeptical.

"I _should_ have left you to rot, you disgraceful-"

He followed, against his better judgement... carefully avoiding a preponderance of thorny vines. He chafed his arms. He'd been clammy in his grave, now the air utterly chilled him.

"Couldn't we build a fire?"

"No."

He dropped to the ground easily, still giving him looks that could kill.

"My mother was a nun." Mary blurted.

Basil raised his eyebrows.

"Jesus came calling?"

Mary scowled as he chuckled.

"My father left when I was very young-"

Basil rolled his eyes again.

"Your father didn't even know, idiot."

Words failed him.

"Was he an itinerant priest? Or, was he higher up the chain?"

He felt his ears going red.

"So, mama's the one tied to us, somehow-"

"She's dead."

Basil paused, frowning.

"I am sorry." he seemed to make a decision. "Rest now, if you must. I'll leave you at dawn. I suggest that you keep out of sight."

He blacked out, for an unknown amount of time. It must have been brief, for it was still dark when he woke with a start.

He had no idea where he was, the time of day, anything. He heard the sound of one hand slapping, & the language he still couldn't quite discern.

"Sììì... Lo vuoi. Prendi tutto il mio sudiciume, piccolo vergognoso..."

His companion had his breeches open, & was aggressively abusing himself. He arched off the ground into his own hand, before climbing onto his knees &-

Mary stared, intrigued, in spite of himself. The creature could be his body double, but for ridiculously built thighs... And, his cock was thick & straight.

Mary's had a little kink, almost at the end. It had made him dangerously popular.

He'd never _seen_ so much cum... Then, laughter. Bitter & ugly laughter.

Basil looked at him directly, eyes half-mast. He was coaxing himself back into place.

"You think to judge me?"

He shook his head, as if to clear it.

"I conjured a pretty blonde thing, you see... A little _too_ well. I had to take care of it." he fixed his pants.

"Are they always blond?"

He shrugged.

"Blondes, redheads... somewhere in between."

"What's wrong with dark haired girls?"

His head snapped up, & Mary knew he'd done something else wrong.

"I can't... I can't."

He stood tiredly, with a sigh.

"I have to go."

"Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

He crowded him, suddenly. They stood eye to eye.

"Yes."

"God damn it, man-"

He struck quickly, grabbing his injured neck.

"How could you possibly have gotten yourself killed-"

He began to throttle him. Mary's eyes went wide.

"I did nothing wrong!"

Basil shoved him, so that he tumbled backwards.

"Everything I ever truly loved is buried in the cold ground. You might want to consider your next words carefully."

_Oh, shit._

"They said I was a witch!"

"And you _loved_ playing around the magic that is black. Frolicked like the utter satyr with all the pretty young things, didn't you? Stuck your crooked dick in, wherever they'd let you?"

Mary shook his head, terrified.

"Don't try to deny it!"

Basil made an ugly face. He'd seen it all, this one running & rutting like some mad animal. He didn't even care about that.

Something subtle & disturbing changed in Mary.

"Jealous?"

Basil hauled him up by the front of his coat, dangerously close to killing him.

Dispatch be damned.

" _She was dead._ "

Mary's bravado fled.

"She was perfect! I loved her!"

"You were supposed to bury her."

He shook his head crazily.

"She was so fair & pure... I couldn't... I couldn't-"

Basil reached for one of his knives, done.

"You raped the dead."

"Nooo-" he wailed pitifully.

Basil's skin crawled, like hundreds of angry ants were on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have a male masturbation fetish.  
> 🍆💦
> 
> (Basil's wife had dark hair.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's rambling. You're not imagining it.

The sun was rising, God damn it all to Hell.

"You live to fight another day, disgustoso bastardo."

Mary clung to him desperately.

"Don't you understand? Don't you understand?" he pled.

No, Basil didn't understand. He would never understand, & he needed to find some cover, fast.

_But..._

He tore into the other man's neck, somewhere just over the rope burn. He didn't make it pretty. He didn't make it nice.

He left him there, dying, & hurriedly found shelter a little deeper in the wood.

Mary curled on his side, in a profound amount of pain.

He had actually learned some of the craft. He never belonged... Anywhere. After his mother died...

Sure. The girls in the silly coven were young, but- They had offered themselves to him freely. Anything he wanted.

One memorable Sabbath, he'd had them all. In every way imaginable. At the same time.

His cock twitched & he laughed, sadly.

He really had loved Faith. She was older than the other girls. Strawberry blond & smart, she teased him ruthlessly.

She was exquisite.

She got smallpox.

He'd already taken the job as the sexton. He didn't mind it, & everyone marvelled that he could dig with his thin, (spaghetti) arms.

Her family expected only the best from him.

_He had to have her._

He shook badly.

Still perfect. Her skin was rather cool, but, not off-putting. Not to him. He had been thinking about it, the whole time he was digging.

He'd gotten so hard.

He had to insist that a couple of remaining mourners leave.

He finally got to pull her out of her coffin. She was ethereal in the moonlight. He pulled off her shroud... impatient to take her.

She would only ever be his.

_Bastard. Who did he think he was? He couldn't put her in the ground like that- Untouched._

He was hard, now... Painfully so.

What would it hurt?

He unfastened his britches, looking down at his head, peeping out & oozing as he watched. He thought of the girls, all the fucking & sucking... And his poor Faith. So still-

He worked himself, craving release.

He was too weak & dizzy to even attempt his companion's earlier theatrics.

So pure... So gloriously tight.

He came violently, spurting all over the ground cover of dead leaves.

He passed out directly, after... Still covered in old blood & dirt.

*********

He glared, leaves crunching under his tall boots. Hell. They could be _in_ his boots... The indignity of throwing off one's clothes to hide in a damn hollow tree.

He spied the lump up ahead. Perhaps he could just drag the body to where he had been? He was bored of the digging.

The little bastard didn't deserve another grave, anyway. He was going to catch such hell for this.

Worth it.

He stooped, pressing a shoulder back to start trying to reposition "Mary". He bet the rigor would render it a lost cause.

It whimpered. His eyes went wide.

No. No, it simply could not be!

He'd taken more than enough blood to kill, as well as perverse pleasure in making it as painful as possible...

The thing blinked up at him in the twilight; cheeks sunken, eyes hollow.

It laughed. A horrible jagged, choking sound.

He couldn't believe it.

It started to claw its way into a sitting position, using his clothes for occasional purchase. Finally, it sat staring at him, green eyes glittering like something possessed.

"Not what you expected?"

He shook his head. No. Not what he wanted, at all.

It laughed some more.

"Every day that you feed me with hate, I grow stronger-"

He made a decision, ( _that_ had been going so well...)

"You will live a half-life, in service to me."

Mary blinked some more, in disbelief.

"The hell you say! You obviously can't kill me-"

"But, I know someone that could." he interrupted, rising to leave.

Just what he needed. He hated people, & now was saddled with a piccolo stronzo malato.

Not a pretty pale girl, to indulge his many eccentricities, no.

"Could you wait a second? I seem to be half dead-" he heard, behind him.

He walked on.

"No."

_~Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is how we end up with Mary. ☠️
> 
> Yes. More masturbation. While dying. You're welcome.
> 
> Tell me what y'all think. (Other than the very obvious, "Oms, Dix! You're weird!")  
> (Already established.)


End file.
